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art & writing in the deep south

Two poems

During the course of our work in the Creative Writing magnet, certain works stand out as exceptional. We have a process of nominating those works, after which we hold discussions about publishing them. During the last semester, these two poems were nominated and selected by students in the level 3 & 4 class.

We wanted to fly
by C. Steele

I remember the conversation well
We were sitting on a torn-up couch
In some burned up house
Trying to maintain some semblance of sanity
We passed around
The tether of our minds
Before letting it fall to the ground
As we climbed up the stairs, giggling and holding hands
We got to a hole in the ceiling, barely big enough for us to squeeze through
And got onto the roof
You led me to the edge
And asked if I had ever jumped off the bed as a child
I hadn’t but I thought that now was a good time to start
So we came closer, our hands clenching with sudden nerves
And we jumped, believing we would fly

Even Now, Your Name Is Unholy (You Always Were)

by A. McCall

I think, I’m always thinking that I knew you
In your days of sleeping in and staying up
Those were your worst days

A brain gone to waste with your ordinary blues
Or were they brown…
But, you missed your mother’s funeral
And your sister’s 21st birthday for
Some girl in the bar with her top down
I was only your ride home,

Whenever I was near you, you smelled a lot like smoke,
Looking back, I see that your eyes never held a fire
You always said breathing just wasn’t for you

Your hair was always messy,
No matter how many hands went through it
And your apologies were as fake as her eyelashes
Your attitude as bad has her make up
And your personality as ripped as her fishnets
You always had a thing for tearing things apart
Your sister was at her boyfriend’s house
Her arm turning the ugliest shades of yellow and blue
Silents whispers of little goodbyes,(“He’s always changing up on me . . .He’s never the same person . . .”)But it was always, “I’m sorry.”

Sitting in front of an old Cathedral
We were looking at the street lights,
And the glowing red cross across the street
I was crying, because you took too many
Of those pills you missed your mother’s funeral for

But, it’s not like your name never
Rolled off my lips the right way
I’m starting to feel like a tragedian
I always had a thing for natural disasters
You were no exception

And just like you, the old Cathedral was torn down
Saying your name felt like a sin in all its glory
I don’t tell stories about you anymore
I hope your sadness wins an award one day,
I hope your tragedy becomes bigger news someday
Maybe this time I’ll be surprised.